


They Say It's Your Birthday (The Five By Five Remix)

by igrockspock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Multi, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes simple things aren't easy on the <i>Enterprise</i>, like protecting your away team from sex pollen, having lunch with your girlfriend, or talking to your daughter on her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Say It's Your Birthday (The Five By Five Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thistlerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Getting To Know You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/328178) by [Thistlerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Thistlerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose) in the [remixmadness2014](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2014) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Star Trek: Alternate Original Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, X-Men: First Class, The Dragonriders of Pern, Firefly, Angel: The Series, Star Trek: The Original Series, Disney Princesses, Queer as Folk (US), Battlestar Galactica, Glee, The Hunger Games, The Prydain Chronicles
> 
> No safe story

Leonard rolls out of bed when his alarm clock chimes. The faster he gets moving, the faster he gets coffee.

 

"Good morning," the computer announces.

 

"No such thing," Leonard mutters.

 

"You have two reminders," the computer continues, unfazed by Leonard's grumbling. "An away team is beaming to Chronos II at 0800 hours."

 

"Right," Leonard mumbles, automatically beginning a mental inventory of what he'll need in sickbay. Vaccination kits, probably, and Jim's allergy medication, certainly. Wound sealants, emergency detox kits, and isolation rooms just to be safe -- Chronos II is an unexplored planet, and there's really no telling what kind of trouble Jim can get himself into.

 

He's so lost in thought he almost misses it when the computer says, "Today is Joanna's birthday."

 

At that, he actually leaps out of bed and starts pulling on clothes even though there isn't much point -- what's he going to do? Run back to Earth? "Damn fool," he mutters to himself. He leans over the comm unit and calls the bridge.

 

"What can I do for you, Leonard?" Uhura asks. Alpha shift doesn't start for an hour, but of course, she's already at her station.

 

"Set up a channel to Earth?" he asks. "The usual number." It's not like he couldn't ask her to call Jo, but the words still don't come easily. He doesn't _hide_ that he has a daughter, but he doesn't advertise it either. He feels guilty enough without enduring other people's questions and opinions, thank you very much. 

 

"You know it's three forty-five a.m. there, right?" Nyota asks, sounding faintly amused. 

 

"Of course it is." He has half a mind to call anyway, just to make sure he gets to talk to her, but Jocelyn wouldn't appreciate that -- and for that matter, neither would Joanna. He realizes he's closed the channel and toggles it back on, feeling sheepish. "Thanks, Nyota," he says.

 

"Anytime. Do you want me to call you when it's eight o'clock on Earth?" she asks, but Leonard declines. Remembering to call his daughter on her birthday is his responsibility, and frankly, it's the least he can do.

 

On the way out the door, he grabs the battered holo generator that holds one of his few pictures of Jo. That'll remind him to call her.

***

Christine watches Dr. McCoy set up a holo generator on his desk first thing in the morning. The image that appears is faintly blue and much too small to see through the office window, but Christine squints at it anyway -- she can't help herself. Before they were friends, Carol Marcus used to call her nosy, but Christine doesn't think of it that way. It's more that she wants to know what makes people tick, and Dr. McCoy doesn't volunteer much information about himself.

 

And, well, maybe she _is_ a little nosy. When McCoy opens his communicator a second after he leaves his office, she can't help but listen. Eavesdropping on senior staff is a violation of Starfleet Regulation 52.99, but Christine does it anyway. It's just so damn entertaining she can't help herself.

 

When she hears Dr. McCoy say, "Dammit, Jim, I told you specifically not to open your helmet," she cracks the door of the supply closet a little wider so she can listen while she restocks the vaccine modules.

 

"If you had seen her, you would've done exactly the same thing, Bones," the Captain says. "Everyone else did too."

 

"I did not," a dry voice interjects.

 

"Spock," Dr. McCoy says. "What the hell happened?"

 

"The planet is inhabited by unusually seductive hominids. After they encouraged the away team to remove their helmets, they released a spore into the air which --"

 

"Sex pollen, Spock? _Again_?"

 

"The odds of encountering aphrodisiac spores three times in two months are approximately 572,000 to one. However, yes, it appears that the crew is suffering the effects of, as you say, sex pollen."

 

The door to the supply closet opens with a sudden jolt. 

 

"You hear that, Chapel?" McCoy asks.

 

Christine nods slowly, shrinking back from the doctor's fury, but he doesn't look angry -- at least, not as her.

 

"Usual protocol?" she asks.

 

"Sedation and isolation," he agrees.

 

Subduing a horny away team and cleaning the aphrodisiac out of their blood takes until lunch time. Privately, Christine thinks it would have been faster to just let them all have sex with each other, but of course, that would be a terrible violation of medical ethics. They’re cleaning up the last of the discarded hypos and dirty bed linens when McCoy asks, “Hey, Chapel, could you do me a favor?”

 

Christine narrows her eyes. “After lunch,” she says.

 

McCoy scrubs his fingers through his hair, looking for all the world like a contrite little boy. “Well, actually, I was wondering if you could cover--”

 

“No, I could not. I have lunch plans. And you _promised_ ,” Christine says, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

McCoy shakes his head. “Right. Because you covered gamma shift twice last week.”

 

“Don’t forget the projectile vomiting incident,” she says. She’s not going to forget that any time soon, and neither should McCoy.

 

McCoy grimaces. “That too,” he says, and Christine snatches her lunch bag before anyone else can come up with a reason why she shouldn’t have lunch with her girlfriend.

***

Gaila doesn’t realize she has a visitor until Christine taps her on the shoulder. That’s the hazard of wearing an envirosuit -- no peripheral vision.

 

“Sorry,” she says, twisting the helmet off. “I couldn’t see you.”

 

“Why are you wearing that thing?” Christine asks.

 

“Not for fun, I’ll promise you that. There was en engine lube leak this morning.” She winces. “Actually, the thing is, we’re not finished cleaning it up yet, I can’t leave for...oh...two hours? I could make it up to you with--”

 

Christine slaps a hand over Gaila’s mouth, giving her a hard look. “ _Boundaries_ ,” she hisses. “Everyone is staring.”

 

Gaila bites her lip. “Right. Still learning. I’m sorry about lunch.” 

 

Christine sighs, but she doesn’t look angry -- at least, Gaila doesn’t think she does. Even after all these years, decoding emotions without the help of pheromones is confusing. 

 

“I understand. If you’d come to sickbay an hour ago, I would’ve had to tell you the same thing.”

 

“If you want, you can eat in the engineering break room. You’ll have a fabulous view of the clean-up, which doesn’t sound fun, but Ensign Vell has been doing _tons_ of squats, and her ass looks amazing in the envirosuit. I’ll tell you which chair to sit in for the best view.” 

 

Gaila smiles as brightly as she can, and Christine smiles back wanly. "Well, I don't care much about Ensign Vell's ass, but if the engineering break room is free of sex pollen and projectile vomit, I'll take it."

 

Scotty looks up when Gaila slips back into the engine room. "Everything all right, lass?" he asks, his voice tinny through their helmets' comm system.

 

"I think so. Well, except for the part about having no idea what work-life balance is." She looks back at Christine, who waves at her through the window of the break room.

 

"Aye, I think we all have that problem," Scotty agrees, and Gaila steps in line beside her fellow engineers. She's lucky to work here. Most people wouldn't guess it, but the most remarkable thing about Mr. Scott isn't his knowledge of physics and engineering; it's the way he always has time to care about his crew, even in the midst of a minor disaster.

 

And really, if the gods and goddesses were fair, it should have _stayed_ a minor disaster. It's just that there's a puddle of engine lube in a corner of the room that nobody had noticed, and one small spark is enough to set it ablaze. The green and purple flames shoot up from behind two support pylons where the fire suppression equipment doesn't quite penetrate. They're forced to fight with hand-held extinguishers while warning lights blaze and the computer reads out useless warnings.

 

Gaila doesn't mean to pass out, but as soon as the fire is dead, her knees go all weird and rubbery. She tries to say something about how hot she is, but the words come out in slave Orion, which the universal translator can't parch. She feels Christine's cool hands loading her onto a stretcher, and the clatter of the med teams' boots on the metal floor.

 

The last thing she hears before she surrenders to unconsciousness is Scotty telling McCoy that his burns aren't that bad, please treat the others first.

***

“How’s that feel, now?” Leonard asks as he switches off the dermal regenerator. The clock on his tricorder -- the one he keeps set to Terran Eastern Standard Time -- rolls over to midnight. Apparently cleaning up an engine room full of radioactive engineers takes most of the day, even with none of them badly injured.

 

Scotty flexes his hand experimentally. “Tingles a bit. Almost a pins and needles sensation, but not quite. Ye’ve a deft touch, Doctor.”

 

According to the voice in the back of his head, the correct response is _thank you_. That voice doesn’t win very often though; if it did, he’d still be married and living in Georgia with his baby girl.

 

He snaps off his gloves and throws them into the disposal chute, which shuts with a satisfying clang. “You can thank me by not blowing up the goddamn engine room.” He turns and stalks off in the direction of his office, where he’ll at least be free of the nuisance of other sentient beings.

 

“Oi,” Scotty calls behind him. “Not one of my engineers is careless, I can assure you. Accidents do happen, though. When ye’re out here in space, without…”

 

Leonard stops to confer with Chapel about their remaining patients, not bothering to look at the affronted Scotsman behind him. That, he thinks, is a more effective retort than anything else he might say. When he’s satisfied they’ll recover by morning, he turns around and drawls, “You were saying?”

 

“Never mind,” Scotty says, inclining his head toward the biobeds. “Thank ye for looking after my crew. I do appreciate that.”

 

Leonard waits for him to add _sorry for the inconvenience_ \-- it’s what he would have said, after all -- but when it doesn’t come, he softens slightly. 

 

“It’s my job,” he says, and his voice sounds weary even to his own ears. His office door opens automatically for him and he steps inside, eager for the comfort of his desk chair. Unasked, Scotty follows behind him.

 

Leonard slumps in his chair while Scotty stands uncertainly in the middle of the room. His eyes skate over the bare white walls, the dead plant, and the stack of gray padds piled in the corner of the desk. He's looking for something to talk about, but god knows, there isn't much. Finally, Scotty's eyes light on the holo next to the computer readout.

 

"And who's the bonnie wee lass?" Scotty asks, tilting the holo up for a better look.

 

Leonard slumps further in his chair. "My daughter, Joanna."

 

"Aye, I can see the resemblance," Scotty says, and Leonard suppresses a snort. He and Jo look nothing alike, unless you count the fact that they both have brown hair. 

 

"Hard being away from her, is it?" Scotty asks.

 

"You have no idea," McCoy answers. He'd thought he'd done the right thing, shipping out and getting as far away from his problems as possible. Now, three months into a five-year mission, he's doubting his decision. She'll be fourteen when he comes home.

 

"I have a wee nephew at home -- Peter's his name -- but it's not quite the same," Scotty says, and Leonard permits himself a small smile. On a ship filled with children, he sometimes forgets that there _are_ a few people old enough to empathize with what it's like to have a kid of your own.

 

“I missed her birthday," he says. "First time in nine years. I even brought her picture down as a reminder to have Uhura set up a channel, but … I never had a quiet moment.”

 

Scotty nods his head in sympathy. "You ought to let me fix this," he says.

 

"Unless you got a time machine hidden in engineering, Mr. Scott--"

 

Scotty's laughter cuts him off. "Well, not at the moment, but I could. A cold-restart with a controlled anti-matter implosion _could_ create a time loop. Or end the universe. But actually, I was talking about the holo." He taps it with his finger. "The pixelator's goin' bad. Unless your daughter's actually blue, in which case, I apologize for my insensitvity."

 

Leonard manages a real smile this time. "No, just an old holo. I've had it since...well, for a long time." The real answer is that he'd grabbed it was one of the few things he'd shoved into his back the day Jocelyn finally kicked him out for good, but that's not a story he'd like to think about today.

 

Scotty toggles off the holo and slips the little projector into his pocket. "I've a bottle of Glenlivet in my quarters," he says. "Have a drink while I restore your daughter to the proper color."

 

Leonard's hands clench involuntarily around the armrests of his chair. It had been a good long while since he'd had a drink to escape from his feelings, but even so, the offer is tempting. The aftermath, though...he doesn't want to go down that road again. 

 

"Thank you for the offer," he says, "but I'll pass. I oughta try and make things right with Jo, even if it's not her birthday anymore."

 

Scotty nods, and Leonard calls the gamma shift comm officer. 

 

"Open a channel to Earth," he says.

***

Joanna McCoy’s comm chimes at twelve thirty a.m. Technically, she’s not supposed to even _have_ her own comm, but Daddy had given her a special one when he went off into space. She keeps it under her pillow ‘cause it makes her feel safe.

 

“Daddy?” she asks, toggling on the screen.

 

“Jo!” the words come to her in real time, but his face smiles in slow motion. She thinks about subspace distortion and ion storms, like she learned about in science class.

 

“I didn’t forget your birthday,” he says. She watches his face shift from happiness to worry.

 

Jo scowls at him. If she were sitting up, she’d cross her arms, and if he were here, she’d storm off in a huff. But laying in bed here, a nasty look is the best she can do. 

 

“Uh- _huh_ ,” she says. It’s the exact same intonation Daddy had used when he lived here and she tried to lie about doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. 

 

Daddy’s mouth opens and closes. He’s never missed her birthday, not even the bad year when he was drunk all the time, and he doesn’t know what to say to her.

 

“Aw, don’t be sad,” Jo says. She doesn’t like to see her Daddy hurt, especially not when there are already dark circles under his eyes. ”I bet you would’ve called if you could’ve. Were there Klingons?”

 

Daddy laughs at the way her face brightens. “No, baby, no Klingons. Just a big damn fire.”

 

Jo giggles; _damn_ isn’t really a bad word, but she likes that her dad doesn’t edit his language around her. It makes her feel grown-up.

 

“Did you get anything good?” Daddy asks.

 

Jo has to think about that one for a minute. There had been a lot. “New pink shoes, a pre-paid music download card, a telescope…” She pauses for a minute. A lot of it had been from her mom’s boyfriend Roger, and she has a feeling Daddy would rather not know about that. “The telescope isn’t strong enough to see you though,” she concludes hastily. “And nobody got me a pony.”

 

She looks hopefully at her dad. Since the divorce, he’s bought her lots of things that nobody else would. This time, though, he gives her a sharp look, and she decides not to say anything else about the pony. 

 

“Whaddya think, Jo? Can you forgive your old man for not calling you on your birthday?”

 

“I guess,” she says, even though it’s actually not hard. She doesn’t like to be mad at people, and nobody can be completely perfect, not even on your birthday. She smiles into the comm screen. “If you miss next year, it had better be because of Klingons.”


End file.
